


One Last Night

by TheGhostFeather



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, F/M, Feelings, Humor, Love, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:38:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGhostFeather/pseuds/TheGhostFeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes always been a child craving for attention stuck in a man's body. Always asking more and more from others. Only, it is not without consequence into close friends's private life. Mostly for the Inspector of Scotland Yard, since Sherlock lost his only friend, John Watson as a new father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a fan-fiction that I read on Tumblr. I can't remember the title of the work, but the blog is named Havens-Trouble-Now if you want to take a look. It's a Reader-Insert multi-fandom fan-fiction blog, I think. 
> 
> Hope you'll like it,  
> The next chapter is coming soon.

Sit on a chair of the dinning table, a woman drinks a glass of red wine. She is alone in a dim kitchen with candles and dinner for two. An elegant black satin dress covers her silhouette while her long dark and curly hair slide on her delicate shoulders. Frances's fingers are making circles around the circumference of the glass of wine she is holding in her hand. As she makes sing the glass, she hums the lyrics of the jazzy song playing in background.

" _Shall I catch a shooting star,_  
Shall I bring it where you are  
If you only say you care,  
I can make a mountain fall  
I'll do anything at all  
As long as you are there"

Her voice is warm as a fire dancing in a fireplace, raspy as the crackling of the logs crumbling. Frances takes another sip of French wine that she bought for the occasion. It's not true. There was no special occasion to celebrate. The beautiful woman is trying to have an intimate moment love to love with her husband. Only, he is never home before passed midnight. But this night was suppose to be different. The plan was that he had to be there at five. Yet, he didn't show up. It's now seven. Frances knows that it's not his fault and she understands. However, she was expecting more from him.

A salty tear is running down her cheek and she doesn't even remove it with her right hand. She lets it flow. She tries to convince herself that she is not sad, but in vain. Tired of waiting after a man who was at the mercy of his work, Frances removes her thights of the chair and puts her part of meal in a plastic container. It will be for her lunch of tomorrow. She lost appetite. The woman with high heels, takes a post-it and put it near her husband's plate. On it, it's writing something. 2,50 minutes in the microwawe. She blows all the romantic candles of the house except the one on the table. She wants him to see all of the efforts she made for this dinner.

After to have blow the candles, Frances goes to the bathroom to remove the gold she had on her eyelids and the red lipstick on her soft and luscious lips. The mascara do not want to be remove, so she just let it were it is - on her long eyelashes. She replaces her sexy dress to a cozy pajamas. The ivory one with dark half blue moons on it. Before to leave the bathroom, she takes a moment to look at her reflection that changes over the years. It was the same as before, but with more aging traits. At her age, it was not flagrant. Just enough to her to notice it. " _Does he sees that I'm getting older, year after year ? That we both gained in ages ?_ ", she thinks for herself. It was a chance that Frances likes to grow old. She had never felt so beautiful and confident as she was today. She wish she could share this feeling with her beloved husband.

Barefoot, the wife who waited for two hours, she lies down on the couch with a soft wool blanket to warm her whole body. Just at the moment she lets her heavy head touch the cushion, a light illuminates her gentle face. It was her phone.

_Will be here soon, SH._

She sighs and falls asleep.

About an hour later, the door opens and the hand of a man is holding the doorhandle. He wears a long black classy coat. Above his wrists, we can see that he's wearing a white adjusted shirt. It was suppose to be for Frances, but finally, it ended to be for another person. A man.

By his posture, it is easy to recognize how much the man is feeling bad to have miss this romantic dinner. The expression on his face when he sees that all the lights are out and there's a lonely meal on the table, lit only by a candle, it feels like a bastard. The more he enters the house, more he regrets to have answered at Serlock Holmes's selfish demands. While the man unties the laces of his shoes, he sees his dear wife, sleeping on the couch. Poor her, he thought. Jazzy songs still playing.

He removes his coat and put it on one of the hooks behind the door. And then, he sits next to Frances, by flattering her long and beautiful hair.

" _Greg ?_ ", she asks with her eyes closed.

" _Yes, it's me_ ", he whispers and kisses her forehead.

Frances opens her eyelids and stares right into the eyes of the man she loves and shares her life with.

" _What are we going to do, honey ?_ " She holds his other hand and bring it to her neck.

" _I'm gonna say that I am sorry and that I will take a couple of days off, so we will be just you and me and the kids ?_ ", he is still whispering.

Frances makes a sad smile. " _It's not enough_. _Also, it would not be the first time you say that. At the end, you always finish to answer the call._ "

Greg sighs. He knows that he haves to do more. He haves to let down a little bit his famous consultant detective. It hurts him by the inside, but he didn't have the choice. It was his job or his family.

Instead of answering anything, the silver hair man rises from the couch, still holding France's little hand.

" _Follow me_ ", he says quietly.

She follows him. She trusts him.

In his embrace, Frances feels like home. Each time he was holding her like this, she had memories of their honeymoon. Greg had drink too much champagne to be sober, but not enough to be drunk. He was just hilarious to hear and to see with his pink cheeks. They were both so tired, that the husband could even not take his new wife in his arms to reach the bedroom they had rent in a charming bed and breakfast. Once in the room, they didn't make love. They just layed their bodies on the mastress and stayed cuddle like this the entire night. This souvenir, they both remembered it as something magic. Not the kind of magic with sparkles and fairies, but the magic of being in love. This powerfull feeling that you only live once in your life.

In front of the kids's room, Greg stops to walk and stares at Caroline and Olivia, his two wonderful daughters. A big smile appears on his face. He is so proud of them. They were his reason to live, his reason to be the best inspector of the city, so they could walk fearless in the streets.

" _They asked for you all day_ ", says Frances, getting the man out of his thoughts.

He's now staring at her gaze full of resentment.

" _Don't worry, I'll talk to him_ ", he answers in a whispering breath.


End file.
